I think this has worried me for a long time, because the nature of my art is confessional. And it’s all right if I am able to confess stuff which belongs to me. But hardly anything a social being like a human being does experience is exclusively a possession and a belongingness of the one.
So anyhow. I just posted the below on Facebook. And I have really no idea where to turn, to be honest. I find myself in a mire of feelings, thoughts and possible actions. They range from stopping writing (I tried this for a few days last week – I almost ended up feeling I needed hospital treatment, the cabin fever was so grossly experienced!) to poking my eyes out and having done with it altogether.
It’s hard, it is. For those of you who don’t write, you can’t imagine the issues when you have to consider no longer using your ability.
You’ll see when you read what I said over on Facebook.
Oh it’s hard you know. It’s hard. Being a writer who has to basically publish on Facebook to himself, ‘cos otherwise it ain’t right what I think and say.
I figure that’s why I concentrated on writing poorly about politics for so long. Only politicians could get upset by what I wrote. And no one cares how politicians feel, do they? (I mean they should, but we really don’t, as they tend to give us such a rough and unhappy ride – and that way we justify the treatment we mete back at them).
But love. Ay! You can only write about it easily when you’re in it; but if you want to write about it justly, you have to wait until all the people you loved are dead, and then it becomes possible to do so without hurt or confusion or some other such uncertainty.
How do other writers of love poetry get around this awful challenge? Do they just publish and be damned, and be damned? Or do they slyly dress everything up? Am sure, if at all true to the feelings experienced, most people could see through any dressing-up which took place.
I guess I’ll have to find something else to write about which doesn’t involve other people’s feelings. But then how on earth can I do that? Shall I become a hermit, and write contemplative prayers? Is that the solution? ‘Cos the real problem here is that we are all connected in some way; so whatever you say or do or communicate, someone’s gonna be miffed in some way or other.
I really don’t.
I really really don’t.
Wish I had been a tennis player or something. You can’t hurt people’s feelings – or at least be weird with their reality – holding a tennis racquet, now can you?
But a pen. Oh myyyyy …